Madness Within
by McKate154
Summary: Of black cloaks and red eyes that whisper death in his ear,of secret meetings and blue eyes that twinkle with malice and dance on his grave. Life seemed so much easier as a pawn, now faced with the responsibilities of a rook. AU RE-POST!
1. Chapter 1

Well, it's back up. Surprise, surprise right? Okay, so this story is officially fixed and ready to go. Here's is the prologue(s) of the epic tale that we have no idea where it's going. R&R guys, we thrive on it. And without further ado……….

"Madness Within"

Severus and Harry stood over the body, arms limp at their sides, the residue affects of their anger still heavy in the air as sparks refused to die from either's wands.

Only one in the room welcomed death.

His eyes glassed up at the ceiling and his fingers still stretched futily toward his broken wand, inches from his still warm body.

Neither Harry nor Snape knew what had happened. Only miserable truth seemed to stretch with the blackening silence.

Dumbledore was dead.

A fleeting glance was given the body as the wizards palmed their wands once more.

The headmaster had been murdered.

Student and professor turned to each other.

Neither cared.

Flashes filled the night.


	2. Goodbye Blue Sky

"Did you see the frightened ones

Disclaimer: Not ours... If the collective works a one J.K. Rowling did in fact belong to Katie and Sarah (that's us!! Hi mom!), the world would not only tremble at our feet, we would not be employed by McDonald's, which happens to own our souls at the present. Anyone what fries with that?

**"Did you see the frightened ones?**

**Did you see the falling bombs?**

**Did you ever wonder**

**Why we had to run for shelter**

**When the promise of a brave new world**

**Unfurled beneath the clear blue sky?"**

**Pink Floyd**

Graveyard. 1979

A sudden crack is heard in the distance. A solitary figure ghosts through the rows of polished marble, stopping at the only unkempt grave. He stares in contemplation at the forgotten name and the faded date. The wind threw a stray white-lily upon the tombstone, but it seemed misplaced. As the figure was just about to fulfill some strange urge to remove it, a hand, seemingly made out of darkness, grasped his shoulder.

"It is time, Severus." A cold drawl pulled him from the light.

As Severus followed blindly still trying to shield the light from the creeping darkness in his heart, he felt rather than saw a circle of creatures in the break.

In the center of the billowing robes, just a shade blacker than the darkness engulfing him, one of the creatures looked up.

Red met black and he gave up his fight for the light.

...

The clock hung on the wall, every moment ticking away at some of his innocence, at his light. With each motion another nameless muggle came one step closer to being a soulless corpse. One of many, Severus reminded himself, that would litter the houses of his childhood street.

He glanced around the house, an empty thing Snape could never really call a home and tried to squash the rising dread he felt. Already, his heart seemed to beat in time with the ticking of death's tool; already, the acquired stain on his arm reminded him how little control he really had.

Several cracks filled the air just as Snape's mark glowed dark. He lifted his hood in silence.

"Are you ready?" the same cold drawl asked, his voice alight with someting darker than glee.

Severus numbly fitted his mask to his pale face and answered with a flick of his wand as the group disapeared into the night.

...

First there were cracks as death descended on the quiet street. Then flashes. Finally, screams.

Fathers yelled, dying with defiant sparks in their fading eyes.

Mothers begged, maternal instincts giving way only to the cold blanket of the reapers in the black hoods.

Children cried, the young ones left with the fear of truly knowing the monsters in their young minds, the old ones with an understanding of just how lucky they were.

But all sights, sounds and understanding seemed to be drawn from one reaper's mind as the final house was neared. Already, black hoods had descended upon the door.

'Home,' thought one hooded figure, for he had spent more of his short life here than at his own.

Snape could do nothing but follow, though, and summon the green rays, the only light in this dark place.

Black met green as two older bodies seemed to crumble to dust on the living room carpet.

"Lily."

...

"I am haunted by humans."

A sea of students swelled upon the Great Hall, its steps eroded from the many years of nervous shuffling and misplaced weight. The mass parted to allow Professor McGonagall to walk up to the high table, but then it immediately converged back together as if an inch apart would spell disaster.

Snape did his best to ignore the overwhelming horde of future headaches. Already he was aware of the power, the possibility this group held. Familiar faces danced out at him, taunted him with the memories their aged counter-parts held.

Longbottom.

Weasley.

Malfoy.

Crabbe. Goyle.

_Potter._

The final name was the one Severus so diligently withdrew from. There were too many memories attached to that name. Too many lies, pains, and deaths. He had already managed to hear that the boy looked just like his father: all except his eyes.

Those damned eyes.

Colors, flashes, and screams still managed to ghost over Snape's mind after all these years. All it took was two words to kill a friendship, two words to gain impossible enemies, two words to end so many lives……

"_Avada Kedav……"_--

"Potter, Harry!"

His head snapped up, glittering black finding jaded green, as a familiar head of rebellious hair disappeared under the weight of the Sorting Hat.

The professor held his breath for as long as he dared. The night mares, eleven years old and buried, were all warring to the surface of his mind at an alarming rate. He didn't know if he could handle the boy if……..

"SLYTHERIN!"

--


	3. Loose Ends

Laughter.

Talking. The man and the woman were chatting quietly as he amused himself with a toy broomstick.

Up. Down. Up. Down

More laughter.

Now the man and the woman were smiling down at him and cooing words he didn't understand.

"You like that broom, Harry?"

"Don't start, James. He's not flying until he's at least 5."

Now the woman was frowning, but the man was still smiling and shaking his head.

Cries. He didn't like it when the woman made that face. Maybe she'll smile for him again.

"Oh, come here, Harry."

He was warm now and there was more laughter.

"_Reducto!"_

The woman tensed and the man started to yell.

"Lily it's Him. Take Harry and run!"

Now they were moving up the stairs.

He watched the man disappear and started tearing.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

The woman tensed again, this time letting out a sob as she locked them inside a bedroom.

He saw his toys and his blanket and felt a little better.

The nice woman placed him inside his crib. She kissed his head, and he smiled.

There was another bang.

"Move aside, girl."

"No, not Harry. Please not Harry."

There was more yelling again, but he didn't know this man. He wanted the other one back. He had laughed.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Now the woman was gone. The other man, the bad man, turned and looked at him.

Scary. He had red eyes; scary eyes.

There was more green light, but it didn't seem to make the man happy. He was screaming.

He fell and the house was silent.

Harry cried.

------------------------------

"Boy! Get your bloody arse out of that bed this instant!"

Harry Potter opened his eyes to greet the darkness of his room. The familiar dust and cobwebs were enough to dispel the dreams of a pair of loving parents and all feelings of comfort. Instead, he raised himself off his creaking cot and was careful to not bump his head off the stairwell inside his cupboard.

"Boy! Come make the breakfast."

With difficulty, Harry managed to stumble out of the little hole in the wall he was forced to call a bedroom. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, torn between the need to run from his horrid family and the thought of a punishment from a pair of hungry Dursleys.

The pain that flared in his side when he took another step made the decision for him and Harry walked into the center of his fears.

"There you are," snapped the woman form of his hatred," Get over here and make yourself useful for once."

The boy shuffled silently over to the stove and started to prepare breakfast. Every moment, he kept sure to not burn himself upon the gas-lit appliance. His eight year old body, barely reaching the top of the stove, already carried too many burns from a slip at the stovetop. Some of them were accidents.

"Are you done, yet?" barked the bigger form of said hatred.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry answered as he brought the finished eggs over to the table.

"Good, then you can start on your other chores." He let out over mouthfuls of food," Out to the yard with you boy."

Harry glanced longingly at the hot breakfast quickly before leaving for the backyard. The sooner he was finished, the sooner he could eat.

Once outside, Harry immediately set out to weed, cut, and prune as quickly as he could. As he worked, he kept his eyes cast to the ground, mindful of the flash of green he was looking for.

"You mis-ssed a ss-sspot."

Harry smiled at the small garden snake that had made its den in Petunia's roses. As he did, he found the weed protruding through the thorns and carefully touched it.

"Thanks-ss."

And the weed slowly turned to ash beneath his fingers.

-------------------------

The great doors opened to an immense hall filled with hundreds in black robes. The ceiling twinkled with false stars, reflecting off of the golden plates on each of the five tables.

A woman, Professor McGonagall, led the first years through the sea of students to a place in front of the fifth table.

"I will call you up by your name, and you will be sorted into your chosen House."

Harry Potter tried to peak around the students surrounding him. The red-head boy from the train was able to crane over everyone's head's, but he wasn't quite so lucky. He tried to move up to the front and finally managed to glimpse a ragged, old hat atop a small stool.

Student by student was called up to the bench, each taking only moments to be sorted into a house.

As he watched, many of the faces he met on the train claimed to different tables. The bushy haired girl and the boy with the toad were both placed in Gryffindor, and the blonde haired boy was immediately sorted into Slytherin.

Harry started to fidget noticeably as the names the Professor called grew closer to his own.

"Potter, Harry!"

Nearly every eye in the hall was at once on the first year student as he slowly made his way to the stool. Funny, how that had seemed so much smaller before.

Harry tried not to look around at the whispering movement as he came forward, eyes to the Head Table. Unfortunately, jaded green managed to catch glittering black as his head disappeared beneath the old sorting hat.

"Ah! So, Harry Potter has finally come to Hogwarts. I was wondering when I would sort you…."

"E-excuse me?"

"I've heard quite a bit about you. One does hear things in t_hat_ office. Now where to put you….."

"Not a bad mind . Loyal. Very brave. Ah, but you're cunning, and you have a strong thirst….to prove yourself……"

"Sir?"

"Well, that is curios. I haven't seen a mind like this in years; not since…..well there's only one place to put you, really."

Harry opened his mouth, about to ask the questions eleven years old and thriving, thinking of the laughing man and woman from the faded dream and the red haired boy staring longingly at the table of lions.

"Slytherin!"

There was at once dead silence in the hall.

Harry finally looked around, the question falling from his lips as the expecting table of lions fell to the triumphant Slytherin table. The resulting cheers nearly distracted him from the empty feeling in his chest.

Almost on instinct, Harry turned and met the onyx eyes once again.

Not quite guarded shock met unhidden fright and confusion as Harry slowly walked to the den of snakes.


	4. Map of the Problematique Potions Class

Chop. Add. Stir. Repeat.

The second year potions class stared down at their separate cauldrons, a few with smiles reflecting in their blue solutions, and some with expressions of fear looking back at them from murky brown compounds.

Harry Potter frowned at his mint-green potion. No matter how much effort he put into each assignment, the result still somehow managed to come out wrong in the end. He had a feeling it had something to do with his smirking lab partner, but he couldn't prove it. Yet.

Harry glanced around the room, noticing that most of the students were having about as much luck as he was, save for one.

Neville Longbottom. The resident screw-up of Gryffindor Tower. How the boy even got into the House of Lions was beyond Harry's comprehension. The boy had absolutely none of the traits associated with the house.

Harry happened to be sitting to the immediate right of the other boy. As he looked over to see what color the other boy's potion was, he saw, rather than heard, the "Oh, no..." uttered by Neville. Harry, having seen the problem in time, was able to scramble out of the way right before a yellowish-green slime exploded all over the classroom.

Harry peaked over the desk and surveyed the damage , over half of the classroom was covered in the corrosive substance. Neville stood in the middle of the debris, torn between the terror of another melted cauldron and the mind-numbing fear of the behemoth that was storming towards him. Fortunately for Neville, he wasn't Snape's only target.

"Potter!" he snarled, more than a little agitated by the state of his robes.

"Y-yes, sir?" Harry stuttered. He wasn't sure how he was going to be blamed for this, but he was confident his Head of House would find a way.

"You will take Longbottom to the infirmary before his skin melts off. Heavens knows what the Headmaster would do if I let that happen."

The Slytherin quickly grabbed the sopping Gryffindor and ran from the room. A day without detention from Snape was worth any amount of slime in his socks.


End file.
